


Did You Stay or Did You Run?

by oanuava



Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: M/M, also they’re dads at the end, both grew up in compton in this, idk how to do tags sorry, kyle has canonical abandonment issues so its in this too oops, moonlight au, oh yeah and a mild bit of internalized homophobia, there’s a scene borrowed from skam france too lmao, well i borrowed some elements and the structure but it’s very modified from the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oanuava/pseuds/oanuava
Summary: demar and kyle through three phases of their life (+ an epilogue)
Relationships: DeMar DeRozan/Kyle Lowry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Did You Stay or Did You Run?

**Author's Note:**

> title based on “yo love” from the queen & slim soundtrack :)
> 
> anyways y’all this is my first fic EVER written so please validate me and/or yell at me in the comments hehe
> 
> also i’m sorry about the screwed up formatting i can’t figure it out

i. little

DeMar loved the twenty-five cent juice boxes from the cafeteria. The best mornings are when he found a couple of coins on the walk to school and could get a juice before school started. He was only eleven years old, but he learned that the smallest things, little luxuries, could turn a bad day around. There seemed to be a lot of bad days recently. His Pops was in between jobs, his Momma trying her best to scavenge some food for his lunches. He didn’t mind too much, he knew they were trying their best for him. 

He couldn’t remember the first time he picked up a basketball, but he sure as hell hasn’t stopped since. Whenever things got tough, his closest friend and confidant was the dirty basketball he played in the nearby park with. His Momma heard that someone’s uncle was gunned down a half-block down from the park, so she tells him to go shoot hoops at the school blacktop instead, which is the other direction from the park. 

“But Momma, I can handle myself out there. I’d know when to run,” DeMar had pleaded.

“You’re just little, those little legs can’t outrun a bullet. You don’t know what could happen,” his mother had countered, and that was the end of the conversation.

So, on Sundays after church, he would exchange his church shoes for knock-off Jordans and jog down to the elementary school. The first Sunday, he had expected to be alone, but there was a small congregation of boys in the furthest court from where he was standing. So, DeMar stayed at the court opposite the blacktop from them and shot some close-range hoops for an hour or two (he wasn’t sure) before he heard one of them call out to him.

“Hey, lil’ man! One of our guys just left, d’you wanna ball?” A boy, who looked to be a year or two older than him, shouted over to him. DeMar shrugged and took his ball over to their court. “A’ight then, you play on the skins team,” the same kid told him once it was clear DeMar wasn’t going to verbally respond. DeMar wordlessly slid off his shirt and tossed it on top of his basketball by the post. He bent his knees and waited for the play to start. 

An hour later, sweat from the California heat was drenching all the young boys. Well, the others didn’t seem so young to DeMar. One particularly tall, mean-faced middle schooler eyes him as DeMar goes to put his shirt back on and head home for dinner.

“Hey,” the kid called, “Where you goin’? Ain’t no time-outs here! Oh, you going home to see your momma and pops? Going to eat mashed potatoes and watch cartoons like a preschooler? That’s gay as hell--”

“Lay off, LaMarcus” A voice sounded. It was the kid who invited DeMar over to play. “What’s your name, little man? D’you go here?”

“Name’s DeMar, and uh- yeah, I’m a fifth-grader,” DeMar spluttered out.

“Tight, I’m Kyle, and I’ll see you around. Or in middle school next year, whichever comes first,” and with that, Kyle turned back to LaMarcus and forcefully chucked the ball at him to resume the play. DeMar took that as his cue to grab his busted-ass ball and hightail it home.

DeMar didn’t see those kids again for a few months, but he almost smiled when he did. DeMar worries about letting them see him smile in order to portray a hardened, more mature version of himself, like a lot of the other Compton kids did too. When he saw them again, they were sitting on a curb by the elementary school.

“Ey, lil’ D!” LaMarcus called, voice full of mirth and taunting. DeMar saw the mischief in his smile, and his blood instantly ran cold. He looked around for Kyle, but didn’t see his bright, curious eyes anywhere. DeMar halted in his walk towards them and started to meander towards the hole in the fence where he would get into the blacktop area. 

“Hey, lil’ shit! I’m talking to you!” DeMar could see LaMarcus and company stand up from the curb and start to run after him. DeMar dropped the ball he was carrying and started to sprint for another opening in the fence across the courts. He slid through the small hole and ran to an apartment complex that he knew was abandoned. Something in his head was telling him it was still dangerous, but he quickly bound up the stairs and shut himself in an old room, locking the door and sliding to the floor in the dusty living room, away from the windows that had been boarded up. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw needles on the floor in front of him and realized that he should’ve knocked before throwing open the door. Thankfully, it seemed like nobody else was in there at the same time. DeMar could hear the gang of boys approaching before loud knocks and yells came from the door.

“Gay little shit! Come out here and face us!” He could hear one of them, probably LaMarcus, holler. 

Lord, he wishes Kyle was here to save him right now. 

ii. demar

DeMar didn’t mind high school too much. He mostly just hooped and kept to himself. Being on the varsity basketball team meant that he received a lot of unwanted attention, though. Especially if you’ve been on it since freshman year. His sophomore season is going great though, he’s showing potential as a recruit for colleges and has been starting (along with Kyle, who’s now a senior) for a majority of games so far. As a matter of fact, he’s enjoying playing with Kyle so much that he’s not sure what he’s going to do with him in college next year. But that’s just purely because of the on-court chemistry, he tells himself.

Even though he doesn’t mind high school, he sure as hell doesn’t like the parties that the basketball team drags him too. He finds himself choosing an outfit at 7 P.M. for a party that doesn’t start until 9. ‘Chill out,’ he thinks to himself before pulling on a graphic tee and loose black jeans, forcing himself to be casual. He hates high school parties.

Kyle comes and picks him up in his 15 year-old Toyota, but at least he can drive and afford a car at all, DeMar thinks. The car ride to Gardena is relaxed, DeMar slouching into the seat, thinking about who might be at the party who is at least tolerable. When they get there, Kyle opens the car door for DeMar to tease him with a sly “m’lady” and poke in the neck. DeMar swats at his hand before trying to slap his neck, but Kyle skillfully dodges and speeds to the door of the little bungalow vibrating with music. Around ten minutes later, Kyle beelines back to DeMar with a beer in each hand, one of which DeMar reluctantly takes and taps against Kyle’s. He hates high school parties, but Kyle makes them a bit better.

An hour later, after a bit of mingling and another beer, DeMar still managed to maintain a semblance of sobriety. Now, he was playing the role of wallflower, having rejected the advances of a girl who was clearly far too drunk to make a rational decision. Leaning on the wall by a floor lamp and sipping his third bottle, DeMar is indiscreetly watching Kyle and another girl talk on the edge of the thicket of dancing teens. She says something in his ear then he grabs her waist as they start to move with the music. DeMar feels a little sick at the sight but he is far too intrigued to leave, so he briefly distracts himself with a fingernail. He looks back up a few moments later and is startled when he makes eye contact with Kyle, who is now grinding up against the girl, who DeMar still can’t recognize. His mouth almost drops open from the intensity of Kyle’s glare, but stops himself. He doesn’t know why he can’t look away. Something in his conscious is screaming that this is all wrong, that men can’t look at each other the way they are right now, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but bring the bottle shakily back up to his mouth and take two long gulps without breaking eye contact. Kyle briefly looks away and just as DeMar thinks that it’s over, he begins to kiss the girl slowly and look challengingly back up at DeMar. He can’t move or breathe under his gaze, all he can do is stare back. When Kyle briefly closes his eyes, DeMar quickly escapes to the restroom. 

Some time later, as the hours began to blend into a sticky haze, DeMar found himself sitting on the steps to the small backyard of the house, watching a lone guy throw up into the bushes. He sighs deeply and scrubs his hands over his face, closing his eyes. Why is the image of Kyle’s gaze burned into his eyelids? He begins to shake. Is he panicking? Suddenly the idea of puking in the bushes doesn’t sound so unappealing. He tells himself to take deep breaths, and right as he’s reapproaching normality, Kyle decides to collapse next to him on the stairs.

“Want to get out of here?” Kyle asks delicately, as if DeMar is going to run the other direction. All he can do is nod and they weave through the party out to Kyle’s car. “I only had one beer, I’ll be fine to drive,” Kyle reassures. DeMar can’t argue with him, so he slides into the passenger seat.

Kyle wordlessly drives them to a little pocket of Redondo Beach. Well, not wordlessly because Kyle can’t help but belt to R&B tracks whenever he drives, even though DeMar always asks to listen to rap. Nobody’s on the beach at this time of night, so the slam of the car doors seems abnormally loud. DeMar doesn’t know why they’re here, but it’s clear that Kyle’s in a state if he’s driven them to the beach at 12 A.M., so he doesn’t comment. Kyle grabs him by the wrist and they trek down to a spot on the beach before the stretch of wet sand by the water and sit facing the waves.

“This is one of the most calming feelings ever,” Kyle starts. DeMar doesn’t think he’s said a word back to K the whole night but it doesn’t matter, it never matters. DeMar will listen to him until they are wasting away to the bone. 

“Yeah,” DeMar chirps, trying to ease the tension in the air.

“I’m sorry about… earlier. Y’know. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or nothin’,” Kyle starts, and DeMar can’t help but chuckle a bit. “What?” Mock-outraged, “Boy, lemme tell you, you are something! I’m trying to apologize ‘n you out here laughing?” DeMar starts to laugh harder, this whole situation seems absurd. Kyle is laughing too, but DeMar can’t tell if it’s nervous or genuine (or both). 

“You’re an idiot,” DeMar begins, spurred by a sudden burst of confidence that’s probably related to the alcohol. It feels like a fond non-confession, as close as he could get sober.

“Why d’you—“

“Just kiss me, man.” He couldn’t help it, he was so weak. Kyle pauses a second too long and DeMar feels as though his world is going to fall off its axis. This is so wrong wrong  _ wrong _ , but DeMar couldn’t help but hope and chase after K for the rest of his miserable existence. Right as DeMar opens his mouth to somehow fix the situation, Kyle surges forward with shaky determination and presses his mouth to DeMar’s. ‘He must be drunk,’ DeMar thinks, but then remembers he is the drunkest of the two and allows himself to melt into the kiss. The fingers of his left hand brush Kyle’s right, the arms that are propping them up on the sand, and Kyle moves his hand fully over DeMar’s. DeMar moves his other hand to the side of Kyle’s face, and the latter seems to abandon all rationale before swinging himself over to straddle DeMar, who is taller despite being younger. Kyle pushes DeMar back fully so that Kyle is propped up on his elbows and their bodies are pressed together in the dark ocean breeze. The kissing doesn’t slow down for a while, and when they break apart they can’t help but succeed it with a few more shorter, messy kisses. When they finally stop completely, there is no knee jerk panic or sudden alarm that ‘hey, you just made out with your  _ male  _ friend’. They just wordlessly help each other up and back to the car. A blissed-out aura permeates the drive home, and although DeMar knows that a panic is going to come, he’s a bit too tipsy to give a damn for now. He can still feel Kyle’s hot weight above him, not suffocating in a bad way but all the right ones. Kyle gives him a lackadaisical smile from the driver’s seat and puts his right hand on DeMar’s thigh and he thinks he might pass out right there. DeMar doesn’t want his home to be there, for once, but the car pulls in front of his house.

They don’t talk about it. Things get weirdly stale from the unsaid words and refusal to acknowledge feelings. A couple weeks of broken on-court chemistry and soon the coach steps in. They are forced to look each other in the face and realize that everything is spectacularly fucked, that they will never be able to talk about it, and just have to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s just how it had to be, especially in Compton.

Kyle rarely talks to him anymore, giving LaMarcus license to reach a level of taunting and bitterness that he hasn’t experienced in five years. 

“I’m going to Villanova University in Pennsylvania for basketball,” Kyle proudly announces to the locker room sometime that January. DeMar feels the linoleum floor drop out from underneath him. Kyle had promised him only a few months earlier that he wouldn’t go far, maybe USC or SDSU. DeMar’s face started to heat up, breathing quickened, but he managed to keep his expression unflinching. Nobody can know that he has partiality for anyone. He doesn’t need friends. 

iii. demar derozan

“July 11, 2012. Kyle Lowry traded to Toronto Raptors.”

DeMar can’t believe it, reading the MSN headline over again. The odds that both of them would make it to the NBA were slim enough, but both on the same team? Deus ex machina for certain, God was interfering.

Kyle doesn’t call him, which is appropriate since they don’t have each other’s number. They haven’t spoken to each other since Kyle pulled DeMar in for an awkward hug after his graduation ceremony. It felt off-kilter, so DeMar slunk away as soon as Kyle was hugging the next person there to see him. If he shed a few tears on the walk home, that was only for him to know.

When he walks into the first day of pre-season team practice, he sees him immediately across the gym. Of course Kyle was the first one there, he thinks. There are thoughts clattering around like pennies in his head, but he can’t catch any of them, too distracted by K’s presence. It’s funny, he thinks, that he grew since he’d seen him last but K hadn’t, the height difference exacerbated. He tries to set down his bag without making any noise, but they’ve always had a radar for each other. DeMar doesn’t hear Kyle drop the ball before walking over and wrapping DeMar in a hug, much to his surprise. Kyle had buried his face in his back and pinned DeMar’s arms to his side. DeMar loosened his arms and pivoted to envelop Kyle, just the two of them swaying in the gym. When the door opens, they seperate with an awkward cough and shuffle, and their teammates start to file in. 

“Let’s grab dinner,” Kyle approaches him after their first practice together, with more of a command than a question. DeMar flashes a small smile and a short nod, and he grabs his bags to change into street clothes. 

It seemed like the scar tissue of their teenage years was slowly starting to fade, but it was a platonic shift back to normality. DeMar was fine with it, he was still young and totally smitten, but now wise enough to understand that Kyle’s friendship was just as valuable as the romantic affection he craved, even though he couldn’t admit that he wanted that to himself yet. They are laughing over a casual dinner at a shawarma place near the training facility and Kyle’s smile makes him glad to be in his presence at all. DeMar still wants Kyle at his best and at his worst, and especially the in-between at a shawarma place in sweatpants.

A bit of teasing and a lot of food later, they end up at DeMar’s house, since Kyle has been crashing at a hotel while he’s sorting out his new place. They each grab a beer and sink into the couch, chatting a bit more about the events of the intervening years since Kyle’s graduation. Kyle has a son, but his mom (Kyle’s ex-girlfriend) had been in a car crash after they had broken up, so Kam is staying with Kyle’s mom until things settle down. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” DeMar starts.

“Don’t be. It was hard, yeah, but time goes on,”

“Did you still have feelings for her?”

“No, but we were still friends, y’know?”

“Damn. Well, I’m excited to meet mini-Kyle,” DeMar tries to lessen the sudden heaviness in the air. It works, Kyle’s eyes lighting up a bit.

“He’s the best. More handsome than me already… d’you have a girl? A kid?” DeMar blinks twice, shakes his head. How does he say that he couldn’t look at anyone else, open himself to anyone else, after Kyle left him back in Compton? Tears start to bubble up at the base of his throat, but he doesn’t know why. It’s too much to want everything that he does, to have a family with Kyle, to laugh with him everyday, to keep him close. He doesn’t know when he became such a ball of mush.

“I haven’t, uhm, kissed anyone since that night on the beach,” DeMar forces out. He doesn’t know what strength he used to utter the words but now they hang in the air, out of his reach to take them back. He feels Kyle’s breath stop and he feels like he had just made the worst decision of his life. He ruined their friendship, the platonic intimacy they had rebuilt that day. 

A deep breath, one, two.

“Why?” Kyle whispers, barely anything.

“You-you know why.”

“Shit, I didn’t- nothing could’ve happened back then or we would’ve been targeted. You know that,”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, why now?”

“We’re grown fucking men in a place that doesn’t give a shit about that type of thing. I know the basketball world wouldn’t like it, but they don’t have to know shit. I waited, even though I didn’t think I would get the chance to see you under these circumstances. The truth is, Kyle, you’re my ten. Why would I be with anyone else when you exist? I fucking struggled with myself for so long, denied it. But I realized I was only fooling myself,” DeMar catches a shaky breath and looks over at Kyle. There are tears streaming silently down his face, and that’s when DeMar knows he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He leans forward off the couch, buries his face in his hands and begins to choke out sobs alongside Kyle. As his tears begin to slow, he feels Kyle shift closer and grab his face to look into his eyes.

“You’re my ten, too. I just didn’t know how to handle it. I dated around because I was in denial and thought you would never feel the same. People have left me all my life and I never figured that anyone would wait for me. Now you’re here, you’ve waited, and I promise you I will never leave again, you’re stuck with me now.” They’re both crying heavily again, but smiling through it, their noses and foreheads pressed together. Kyle leans forward and captures DeMar in a soggy kiss, wet with tears. Later, they end up in bed together, too burnt out from emotions to really do anything but just get under the duvet and tangle their legs together.

“Stay with me until you get your house sorted out?” DeMar whispers when they’re about to fall asleep. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kyle smirks cheekily and presses a kiss to DeMar’s forehead.

epilogue. (sorry i’m straying from the moonlight structure aaaaaaaa)

About a month later, Kyle has signed everything and successfully moved into his new home, a nice three-bedroom with a big basement and backyard (for his son). One room for him, one for his son, and a guest bedroom. DeMar books his flight to LA with Kyle to pick up Kam, saying it will give him an excuse to see family. He makes sure Kyle doesn’t mind, of course, he gave him the option to get some time away from him, but they’re fools that can’t bear to be apart so the answer was obvious to Kyle. 

Kyle’s mom and son were waiting for them at baggage claim, and DeMar chuckles fondly at the way Kyle practically sprints over to Kam and scoops him up. When Kyle hugs his mom and turns back around to DeMar where he’s walking over, DeMar thinks his heart might burst. In one dizzying moment, he knows that this is his chosen family, that he would die for Kyle and Kam in an instant. Kyle senses his emotion and rubs his bicep with the arm not holding Kam.

“DeMar, I think you’ve been waiting to be introduced to my mini-me. Kam say hi to DeMar, he’s very special to me,” A tear runs down DeMar’s face because he couldn’t fucking help it. Kam, bright like his dad, sees the distress that DeMar’s in and reaches his little four-year-old hand out to wipe the single tear off of his cheek. DeMar looks at Kyle and there are swirls of emotion in his eyes, a fond smile, and the beginnings of tears. Kyle blinks them away, though, ever the least mushy of the two. They then both abruptly remember that they still need their bags (and that K’s mom has been staring at them the whole time) and begin to laugh in tandem. The whole situation is weird, wonderful and hilarious. 

When they return back to Toronto a few days later, the dynamic has shifted. It’s not just Kyle&DeMar anymore, it’s Kyle&DeMar&Kam, their own little gang. DeMar started to see Kam as his surrogate son as soon as they met at LAX, but Kam still has yet to think of him as a father. They’re in Kyle’s kitchen, Kam watching over his cereal bowl as DeMar swoops down to kiss Kyle good morning. 

“Why don’t I get a kiss, big dad?” Kam’s little voice chirps from the table. DeMar freezes and his eyes go wide. He knows that Kam is talking about him, but still looks at Kyle questioningly. Kyle looks just as surprised, but a slow smile began to creep across his face until it was more radiant than the sun. DeMar’s knees almost give out, but he does a little shark wiggle over to Kam and roars, much to Kam’s amusement, before pecking him on the cheek and ruffling his hair. He was a dad. He was ‘big dad’. Now DeMar knew for certain, he and Kyle were in this for the long haul. 

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me in the comments or on my tumblr @ziggy-v (my bball blog is @anunobyy)!! i appreciate y’all!!


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